


The Desert's Quiet; Cleveland's Cold

by ProtoNeoRomantic



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Aftermath, Betrayal, Canon Divergence, Character Death, Community: Giles Shorts, Coping, Cruciamentum, Ficlet, Gen, Loss, Post-Episode: s03e12 Helpless, Remorse, What Doesn't Kill You Can Still Seriously Mess You Up, prompt: War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-20
Updated: 2014-10-20
Packaged: 2018-02-21 21:28:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2483063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProtoNeoRomantic/pseuds/ProtoNeoRomantic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a test.  He passed.  She didn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Desert's Quiet; Cleveland's Cold

Mr. Giles ordered in again. Sweet and Sour Something or other. He couldn't quite seem to give a damn far enough in advance to shop and cook these days. Anyhow it saved the washing up. He was meant to be researching something. Sod all that mattered. Rearranging deckchairs. Vitally important dust catchers for the Archives. Charitable employment for a useless old veteran. Out to pasture.

Eight months had gone by. Four of them in this gray, unforgiving city that should have reminded him at least a little of London but didn't at all. Another term would be starting at Sunnydale High. Not that that mattered either. The children had graduated. Those who were still alive.

Faith was still alive, but she could hardly be called a child anymore. Not after the things she'd done to get her hands on the Books of Ascension and defeat the Mayor. 'Another Dooms Day, another complete lack of a dollar,' she had tried to play it off. Another Slayer. Carrying on. She'd be eighteen in the coming Spring. If she lived that long.

He switched on the television, just for the noise, but there was something on about Aztecs that made him ill, and all the other stations were fuzzy. He needed to fix the antenna. Or get the building manager to do it. Had done since he'd moved in four months ago. He switched the set off, unable to endure the pompous, paid-to-be-English announcer nattering on about young women being skinned alive and worn as ceremonial garments as if it were just yet one more fun and interesting custom in our multicultural world. Winston Churchill had once said, “It doesn't take all kinds to make a world, we just have all kinds.” Of course, he had also said to Hell with the City of Coventry, in deed if not in so many words. That was how wars were won.

Bugger Winston Churchill. Bugger the whole bloody Council; past, present and future. How wars were won(!) Cruciamentum was the daftest thing since decimation. It was demoralizing, often crippling, even to those who passed. It broke the bonds of trust between Slayer and Watcher. The Watchers broke them, or they didn't pass the test. Well, Mr. Giles had passed. Goodie for him. He should probably get a gold star.

 

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